Stories from the Tropic #9

Well I now have had the pleasure of experiencing Timor style medicine. It started as normal Saturday night and another hash run/walk. This week in a beautiful spot high on a hill where Timor Telecom has communication towers set up. While I still regret forgetting my GPS unit I'm sure we ascending a couple of hundred meters to the site that sat on top of the hill. For the record I'm still confused as to what is the proper term for these evevation changes that cover the country should be, while many call them mountains my problem with doing so is I have seen the rocky mountains and these things are not in the same league. The hash run/walk itself was along a single track on the hill that offered wonderful views of the area. We all agreed that it wasn't a walk it was more like a hike, and quite treacherous as the path was narrow and fell off sharply if you strayed off it. I'm sure I would see my first snake along this jungle path but none slithered up to the party, I did smell mint in the breeze so I am assuming it wasn't the locals who watched us in curiosity, but something growing naturally close by. One fellow actually fell and plummeted maybe 20 meters before he stopped due to the steep incline. Thankfully he was fine other than a few bumps and bruises. Even the running group said that they walked mostly due to the treacherous conditions. I joked that we should have done a head count first as I was convinced someone was going to be lost, only to reimerge some 10 years later as a new generation of Tarzan.

My personal problems started when I thought, much to my own stupidity, that I will try to keep pace with Aussies boys whom I went with to the hash, and who invited me out for some fun afterwards. After returning for a quick shower after the hash we departed to a place called Kaz-bar. There dancing, drinking and chatting ensued. Then it was off to another bar called Mr. Guitar - this is where I made my only prudent choice of the night and decided to leave. Problem is taxi's stop running at 11pm so here I was alone, wandering aimlessly with too many in my system. Somewhere along the way I must have fallen, and as I am prone to do, landed on my face and put a large gash around and thru my eyebrow. My shirt, shorts and sandals were soaked with blood which is where my luck started to change as some security partrol guys must have figured I was attacked so stopped and picked me up saving me from a 7km walk back home. There the guys at Terra Santa assessed the damage to my face as 'very bad - must go hopital Mr Chic' and put me in one of there jeeps and off to the hospital we went at 1:00am. Whether it wasn't busy or I get special treatment being an expat I can't comment - either way I was thankful for the immediate attention and was lead to a separate emergency room and there 5 stitches were inserted into my brow. No triage nurse and no doctor ever saw me - it was a male nurse that did the sutures and I was sent on my way with four little baggies of pills - no names and no instruction about them was given to me. Not thinking clearly when I got home I took one of each - to my surprise I awoke the next morning no worse for the wear. I only found out on Monday morning as Zenildo's wife (Maria Belle) is a nurse who he called and solved the mystery: I was given tylenol (spiked or not with codiene or the like was never determined, vitamins, a blood thickener, and amoxcillin though I have no infection). Price for the treatment - $20. While I'm sure I'll live, how the scare heals is another story. On Monday I used Zenildo's wife's services again as my unsucessful attempts to get an appointment with either the Portuguese Dr. ($40/visit) or the Aussie Dr ($70/visit) to have my dressing changed failed. So one call to Maria Belle set up another front of the queue hospital visit right after lunch on Monday. We end up (I say we as Zenildo follows me in the room like a mother accompanying her children, plus Maria Belle) in the same room I was the other night to have the dressing changed. The guy that stitched me up the the previous day also stopped by afterwards to say hello and see how I was doing. Unfortunately that dressing fell off in the shower so my gash is open to all to gawk at. Two important lessen were learned in all this - don't try and keep up with the Aussies. The guys I went with were telling me the next morning that after Mr Guitar they proceeded to pick up a pizza and go to a buddies place (a UN cop no less) where more beers were consumed. The other lessen is that I was really impressed with how the guys at Terra Santa were willing in the middle of the night to take me where I needed to go and everyone the next morning, employees and residents alike were all so concerned about me the next morning. Ironically enough while I feel fine in terms of the gash now I have a cold to contend with. While I should be thankful its not malaria or dengue it seems funny to catch a 'cold' in the heat of the tropics. So much for the old wives tale about bundling against the chill to ward off a cold! When I'm ailing I am the first to: 'say yes to drugs' which lead to a mini-road trip thru town looking for some cold remedy (decongestant). I should have learned from my hospital visit that doctor's scripts for drugs are practically non-existent. Farmacia's are all over town where there is a virtually over the counter cornucopia of everything that might ail you - except, as I found out, a decongestant. They tried to sell me vicks vapor rub for $2.50 and a some other nose drops - but no drug labels could be found and the description at the front was in Bahasa. I am hoping that the generic drug name is a universal language so I can try again next time and ask for anything with psuedoephedrine or phenylphrine. Not being a drug addict I didn't test the extent of goods available OTC but I did see another bloke down the counter from me buying two ampules of something. Myself I would be content with a sudafed.

After all that excitment on the weekend, Sunday came and went where I did very little as I was nursing both a sore head and a hangover - dumb, dumb, dumb! Monday was upon us yet again. I will save what the details of what my day is like but suffice it to say that most days I drive home and think to myself I did little or nothing all day long. Not being lazy nothing, but putting out fires all day long nothing. My day is a constant stream of people coming in and out of my office demanding my attention - Meesster Shick, Meester Shick (phonetic pronuncation) - and proceed to tell me some long winded story without ever having an actual question for me to deal with, then I have to parse the story in order to try and determine what it is they are expecting of me. I must sign my name at least 50 times a day as people come and go getting me to sign everything from vehicle maintenance logs, to purchase requisitions, as they queue up in line waiting for there turn for my attention. The other day I had to broker a discussion with no less than 6 people packed in my office (plus the Zenildo and Joao that share the space) - and like a family dinner, everyone speaking at once, some in tetum, some in english and some in portuguese. I have discovered that lunch time is about the only time I can have an hour to myself to emerse yourself in something that demands undivided attention. The upside of all this is that the day flies by despite a rather long day, due in part to the 1.5hour lunch here (and standard for most places). So my day is 8am to approx. 5:30pm. As the traffic lunacy and volume explodes my commute time for my 8 km journey is about 20 minutes, though I have found that disruptions, like an accident on the comoro bridge can extend the commute time to an hour, very very frustrating.

Indiscriminate decisions, the result being a lifelong mark

While in the evening, it was only my judgement that was dark!